


Catoptromancy

by ecarius



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!, Yu-Gi-Oh! Series
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Ancient Egypt, Arranged Marriage, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, a little hint of yugi/seto
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-02-15 16:35:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2235909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ecarius/pseuds/ecarius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The god, Heru-ur, sends a member of his court to wed Prince Atem. Pharaoh Ahnamkanon and the whole of Kemet rejoice in the honor, especially since it has been withheld from them for so long. This 'honor,' however, is no random act of kindness on the gods' part.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Catoptromancy noun \kəˌtäptrəˌman(t)sē\ : a divination technique utilizing a mirror

The procession appears like a mirage, the image of it wavering and blinking in and out of view in the distance. Atem spots little splotches of violet, black, and red waving and growing larger, vanishing, and reappearing.  He anxiously watches and the splotches become steadier.  His fingers clench at his sides, and his father rests a hand on his shoulder to anchor him.

“I am proud of you, my son,” Pharaoh says. His hand remains on his son’s shoulder, and Atem forces his fist open, attempting to hide his weakness. His father has spoken of nothing else of late but his son, blest and chosen by the gods. His pride is a heavy weight on the crown prince’s shoulders.

Atem can make out the individual rows of figures now, dressed in white and gold. They drift closer, making their way into the heart of the capital. 

To him.

Now, he can see the litter that bears his future bride, a large speck just beyond the city. 

“Are you afraid?” his father asks, squeezing his shoulder in comfort.  

“No,” Atem replies. He hesitates before deciding to leave it at that.

It is too simple a description for his feelings. He is afraid, excited, and confused all at once. His father has accomplished much in his life - saving Kemet from invasion being the greatest one - but he was not afforded this honor. His grandfather was also said to have been a great man. Atem wonders why it has been so long since the gods have sent one to mingle with his line. What makes someone worthy to be wed to one of the god’s court? Above all, he wonders why he has been chosen.

He is not modest.

He is a prince of Kemet, the future pharaoh, but he has done nothing worth honoring. Yet. The gods, of course, probably know his destiny, but Atem feels weak when set against his father.

It has been seven generations, the longest gap in their history. There have been whispers, since before his father’s time, that the current line of pharaohs has somehow angered the gods. For many, the turbulence of his father’s rule proves it.

He can save their plummeting reputation, sooth the country’s unrest. His father looks at him now with joy, tells him that his rule will be prosperous, and Atem knows he must do this. He hopes that he will be happy, that the gods have chosen well for him, but he knows that his happiness means little against the prosperity of Kemet.

The crowds gathering in the streets outside the palace walls cheer as the procession passes through. Atem drinks in the sight. The litter bearing his future spouse is ornate, as to be expected, with black panels and decorated golden posts, but there are layers and layers of sheer red cloth hiding her from his view. Each carrying pole, also gold, is shouldered by two servants dressed in white linen. Their simple collars are red, trimmed with gold, and they all wear gold bands on their arms and legs. It’s a little stunning to see such opulence on display on servants.

"Come,” his father bids, breaking him from his thoughts. Atem nods once and follows his father off the balcony.

The entertainment has been pleasing the nobles of the court while he and his father watched the approaching procession, and the crowd is drunk with anticipation and excitement. They don’t quiet when Aknamkanon and Atem enter but, instead, chatter louder.

Atem is glad to see Mahaad standing near the throne with a group of priests and a sulky Mana. With a look of exasperation, his father lets him go to them. The procession moves to them slowly; there is time.

“My prince,” Mahaad greets. The priests around him disperse, bowing low first to their future pharaoh.

Mana perks up and plasters herself to her master’s side, smiling at Atem with full force. “You look very handsome today,” she teases. Mahaad glares down at her headdress, and Mana’s face scrunches up, sensing the upcoming scolding though she doesn’t see her teacher’s face.

Reluctantly, Mahaad agrees with his apprentice. “You do look handsome, my prince,” he says. Atem offers him a smile, glad for their friendship and familiarity. He hasn’t thought much of his attire; it is much more elaborate than usual. He wears much more gold than he does day to day, and at his father’s insistence, he wears a rich red. By chance, he matches the main color of the approaching procession.

“Do you know anything about her?” Mana asks.

Atem frowns a little and shakes his head. “No, only that she is of the court of Heru-ur.” The messenger came and announced Atem’s destiny a little over a month ago. His headdress, fashioned to resemble a falcon, covered his eyes, and he had answered no questions. He repeated the same message as many times as requested but revealed nothing else. 

And who were they to question the will of the gods?

Mana pouts, disappointed that there isn’t more. Atem smiles and ruffles her hair a little, and Mahaad offers them both an exasperated look. They act almost exactly the same as they did when they were children when they were mischievous things hiding from the palace guards in empty water pots.

There is a faint sound of tiny, tinkling bells, and Mahaad’s expression grows somber. “My prince, it is almost time.” Atem nods and steps away from them, heading to stand beside his father on the throne. Though their conversation was short-lived, he is glad for it. Their support and loyalty means everything to him, and they give him strength.

He _is_ afraid. 

The bells grow louder. The nobles grow silent. The procession of attendants, wearing the same gold mask as the messenger, slowly parade inside. They all walk in step, filing into the throne room in perfect order. The litter-carriers walk at the same pace between the two aisles of accompaniment. Once all the attendants have made it inside the throne room, they stop, turn to face inwards, and kneel. Atem is impressed by the beauty of the display. The litter is lowered to the ground in the direct center, and the ones carrying the litter remain kneeling save for one. He stands and pulls back the curtain, offering his hand.

A dark hand, decorated with many rings, grasps it, and his bride is revealed.

Atem knows the shock must show clearly on his face.

His bride—this fact now unclear—looks like he could be Atem’s mirror image. The attendant who aided his future spouse releases his double’s hand and kneels. Something is whispered between them, too low for anyone to hear, before his mirror walks slowly to the throne. A whisper goes up in the crowd, and eyes flit back and forth between the two figures.

“We welcome you,” his father speaks, silencing the murmuring. With a quick glance, Atem can see that his father has remained calm and unshaken.

With each passing second, the differences slowly become apparent to Atem. Their eyes differ, as does their height. His double has violet eyes, wider than his own, and he is shorter than Atem. He looks _softer_. 

“I am welcomed,” the man says, smiling. “My father sends his blessings.”

Something does cross Pharaoh’s face then, and he stands. The court is riveted, eager for each scrap of knowledge. “May I inquire as to who your father is, child?” he asks.

His double blinks, startled by the question, but he quickly regains his footing. “Heru-ur is my sire.” His lip quirks just a little, and he watches their reaction with amusement. The court no longer mutters but rather speaks loudly amongst each other. Atem, himself, is stunned stiff. Stealing a glance, he sees that Mana is whispering excitedly to Mahaad who is frowning, forehead furrowed in concentration. He turns back to the god, standing between his neat rows of attendants.

He had hoped that he had prepared himself for this moment, this uncertainty, but he feels a fool. Atem feels as though he is drowning. His double approaches, and his father, having accepted the new information, makes a soft noise to spurn him into action.

There is no protocol for this situation, but he has good instincts. Atem drops to one knee, bows his head. He can hear the court drop to theirs, following their crown prince’s lead. There is silence, silence and the sound of slow footsteps. Atem keeps his head down, and he’s ashamed to note that his hand is trembling against his knee. He squeezes, tries to steady himself. The footsteps stop, and he can see his mirror’s little feet, bare. He wears half a dozen golden anklets on his left leg, and Atem fixes his eyes on them, following the intricate details etched into the gold as he attempts to control his breathing.

Fingers touch his chin, draw his head up. When he stares into the god’s eyes, he’s surprised to feel himself set at ease. There’s compassion there, a sweetness. Atem doesn’t feel judged; he feels comforted. The hand cups his cheek, and Atem surprises himself by covering it with his own hand. The smile on the god’s face widens.

“Rise, my prince,” he says. As Atem rises, the god whispers to him, “There is no need to be so nervous, Atem.”

Atem feels his face grows hot, but he gathers himself. A little bit of irritation zips through him—at the situation, at this god so calm standing beside him—but he works quickly to smother the feeling.

A hand slides into his. Their fingers interlock, and the god faces the man standing before his throne, “Does this union please you, Pharaoh?”

Aknamkanon looks upon them with a blank expression, and Atem feels cold. He had expected joy or pride from his father, but now, he looks upon them coolly. The god gives his hand a light squeeze.

“It pleases me.” The court erupts. Atem’s father sits on his throne, clapping his hands once, and servants swarm in with food and drink to celebrate the conclusion of this formality. Atem stands stiff in the face of his father’s strange reaction.

The god leans into him, causing him to stumble sideways a step. Atem scowls, turning to his soon-to-be spouse. The god laughs at him, “I am a little surprised, princeling.”

“Why?”

“Neither you nor your father have asked for my name,” his double says, his smile just a tiny bit wicked. Atem definitely feels a fool.

“Forgive me,” Atem says. The god doesn’t seem to care either way for his apology and waits for him to continue. Gritting his teeth a little, he inquires, “What is your name?”

“Yugi,” the god whispers, leaning to speak it directly into Atem’s ear. The crown prince feels lips brushing his skin and shivers.

When Atem looks to his father, he can now clearly read displeasure in his face, and he doesn’t understand. 

It burns in the back of his mind, even as they are seated together to mingle amongst the court in their celebration. He should feel relieved that the initial horror is over, but he feels off balance. Sipping at his wine, Atem steals discreet glances at his father. When the court members come to pay their respects to him and Yugi, he thanks them distractedly, but Yugi, smiling and sitting very close, offers a traditional blessing and draws most of their attention. The court delights in the god’s indulgence.

“Distracted little thing, is he not?” The observation is cutting and calls for Atem’s attention.

When Atem turns, Yugi and his attendant—the one he’d whispered to before—look at him intently, or rather, he assumes the attendant is looking. His eyes are covered by his mask, but his lips are curled into an unpleasant smile. 

“Pardon?” he says, attempting to remain polite.

Yugi steals the goblet right out of his hand, drinks from it. Atem is too distracted by Yugi’s servant to feel irritated about it. The attendant smiles wider, teeth flashing. “Did you know that there are others who would kill to be in your place, prince?” Yugi’s face changes in a snap.

“Jou, _please_."

It sounds to Atem more like a command than a plea, and the small exchange makes Atem curious. “Your father is simply concerned about heirs, princeling. I already told you there is nothing to worry yourself over.” The god offers him a smile. “Come, Atem. Let us depart from here and talk—in private.” The last part was directed at his attendant rather than Atem.

Jou scowls, “Absolutely not.”

Atem stands despite Jou’s misgivings, “Yes. Let us go.” Yugi offers him a pleased grin, stands, and slips his arm around Atem’s. Together, they exit into the quiet hall occupied only by a few servants carrying food and drink to sate those still celebrating.

* * *

As soon as the heavy doors close behind them, Yugi lets him go with a sigh, and though Atem is surprised, he says nothing about it.

“Do I meet your expectations?” Yugi asks, walking ahead of him.

“I had no expectations,” Atem replies, following.

" _Liar_. You and your father both thought you would be presented with a beautiful wife.” Huffing irritably, Atem walks faster so that he is next to the god. Yugi glances at him from the corner of his eye. “Are you disappointed?”

Frowning, Atem faces forward. The hall is dark; the celebration has lasted past the setting of the sun and will probably go till morning. It has been seven generations after all.

“No. You are… _interesting_.” He doesn’t know what else to say, what else to offer. The god _is_ interesting. Atem is also willing to admit that he is many other things as well. Beautiful. Strange. Infuriating. 

Snorting, Yugi clasps his hands behind his back. “If you continue to tailor your responses to keep from upsetting me, we will have a very difficult marriage.”

“Will we?” Atem retorts. “Tell me, Yugi. What did your servant mean before?”

Yugi makes a strange noise. “Of course, you would bring it up.” He shakes his head, blond bangs falling about his face. The god reaches up and tucks some of the strands behind his ear, and Atem notices one of the thicker strands carries a thick gold bead. “I had a suitor—back home.”

Atem’s lip curls, but he waits.

“My father hated him, and I knew I could not marry him. I did not want to. It became quite…messy in the end.”

“Oh?” 

“He sent an army to Kemet, hoping to break the line of pharaohs,” Yugi says, staring at him intensely. Atem frowns. “Your family has always been most loved by my father. You know this.” A smile crosses the god’s face, “He loves you and your father very dearly.”

Atem has known all his life that the line of pharaohs was favored by Heru-ur. When the gods sent someone to marry into his family, it was always someone approved by his court. Still, it is a completely different thing to hear, straight from a god, that he personally was loved by Heru-ur.

“Oh, I have broken you,” Yugi teases, bumping shoulders with Atem. The prince, without thinking, shoves back with equal force. An apology is immediately on the tip of his tongue, but Yugi just laughs. “You are so careful. I promise I do not offend easily. Speak your mind with me. I prefer it.”

Atem returns to the topic at hand, “The god who tried to attack—”

“I never said he was a god,” Yugi says, a sad smile crossing his face. "It no longer matters. Seto’s army was stopped.” His eyes drift to the puzzle hanging around Atem’s neck. 

“Seto,” Atem tastes the name.

Shaking his head, Yugi drifts close to him again. “Do not think of him.” A look of determination crosses his face, followed by something that looks like resignation. “I am yours, Atem.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my obligatory Ancient Egypt fic, and I hope it's not too stale and flavorless.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I liveeeeeee!

Sometime after night has bleed into morning, Pharaoh retires. 

The priests depart the revelry next, no doubt eager for the sleep that will get them through the upcoming days of ceremony, but most of the other guests remain. As the minutes pass and the rushlights burn low, their anticipation becomes palpable. 

Yugi, Atem notices a bit bitterly, seems completely at ease despite the obvious expectation of the court. He continues to smile and drink and dole out blessings that leave almost anyone on the receiving end weak-kneed and awed. 

“I think it may be time to put your prince to bed, Yugi,” Jou suggests after yet another man stumbles away from them, weeping tears of joy at having been blessed.

Atem bristles, but Yugi reaches out and covers the fist he has clenched against his thigh and smiles knowingly. 

“Forgive me,” Yugi says, showing no sign at all of fatigue. “Are you tired, Atem?” His eyes flicker to the night’s sky, visible through the high windows along the walls of the hall, then to Jou. “It _is_ late.”

“Shall I gather the guard?” Jou asks.

Yugi looks to his new husband and gestures gracefully with his hands to indicate he wishes for Atem’s opinion on the matter. 

With as much dignity as he can manage, Atem says, “Yes.” He stands, and the volume of the conversation in the hall dips before rising again. Many guests turn their attention to him and Yugi, though they’re clearly trying to be discreet about it. 

Atem, very aware of the eyes on him, holds out his hand to Yugi with a smile; inside, his guts are churning themselves into tight knots. 

After Yugi rises to his feet with Atem’s help, he doesn’t let go of Atem’s hand, and together, they watch as Yugi’s guard marches to them in perfect, precise steps. 

Atem’s too tired to be impressed by the display. He puts a hand on Yugi’s back and gently steers him in the direction of their room, and as they turn from the guests, there’s applause, laughter. Atem’s cheeks flush with heat, and to his horror, his hands start to sweat. 

Yugi just squeezes the one he’s holding and leans to rest his cheek on Atem’s shoulder for a second. 

“No need to be nervous,” Yugi whispers lowly as they pass through the hall’s main doors into the corridor. The reassurance only makes the knots tighter and the blushing worse. 

He grits his teeth instead of responding. 

When they reach his and Yugi’s chambers, Jou and two others step around them and proceeds inside, _without invitation_ to the horror of the guards already posted outside, but they catch sight of Yugi, smiling at Atem’s side, and any orders or questions die on their lips. 

Minutes tick by and Atem’s palms become so sweaty he can scarcely bear it. “What is it they are looking for?” Atem whispers to Yugi, and to his shame, there’s a petulant note in his voice. 

“Threats,” Yugi says calmly. “Traps. Assassins.” Atem can see his guards take some offense to the words, but Yugi continues, “Anzu will put up a barrier to see us through the night.” 

Even though there’s no innuendo there, Atem finds his face heating again. “I see.” Feeling a little contrary, he adds, “Is it because of this Seto of yours?” 

Yugi squeezes his hand a bit too tightly at that.

“I have finished,” one of the guards announces, returning to them. She raises an eyebrow, which disappears beneath an elaborate golden headdress, when Atem abruptly and deliberately turns from Yugi, jaw clenched. 

“Thank you, Anzu,” Yugi says. 

Anzu nods and exits the room, followed by Jou and the other. They bow to Atem and Yugi and remain bowed even after the newly married couple enter and close the door. 

“That was very rude,” Yugi says after a moment. He doesn’t immediately let go of Atem even as he says this. 

“Is it true?” Atem presses. 

Yugi sighs and, this time, draws away. “In part,” he admits. “But he is only a tiny part of why they - _we_ \- are so watchful.” 

Atem frowns. “What are the other parts?” 

Yugi, as in answer, slides one of his armbands down and off his arm, staring unblinkingly at Atem. “Later,” he says decisively, after a moment of thought. He slides off a bracelet. 

Atem’s tongue feels swollen in his mouth. “Later?” he repeats, voice cracking. He means to demand an answer to his question, but his mouth stops cooperating. 

“Yes,” Yugi says with a nod of his hand. “We will discuss it later.” 

Atem means to argue that, but Yugi reaches behind his head and undoes the clasp at the base of his neck, and his beaded collar slips right off his shoulders heavily, revealing a swath of skin.

Despite himself, Atem inhales audibly. Suddenly, he is all too aware of what is meant to happen now, what he’s expected to _do_. With Yugi. 

“Atem?” Yugi says, depositing the collar on Atem’s dressing table. There, he starts to remove his other armbands and bracelets and rings. 

Atem tries to answer, but the words remain stuck in his throat to his embarrassment. 

Yugi huffs and smiles, then beckons him over with a wave. “Come here,” he commands, and Atem obeys without much thought. Yugi eases him into the stool before the table, then he taps at one of the gold bands on his forearm. “May I?” 

“Yes,” he says, dipping his head, and with that, Yugi starts to divest him of his finery. 

He starts with the puzzle, removing it quickly and setting it aside, so he can work on Atem’s collar. He takes his time undoing each of the tiny, delicate clasps digging into this neck, then he lifts Atem’s arm and removes his two armbands. Then, it’s his rings. He takes the other arm and repeats the process, manipulating Atem’s limbs with an absurd level of care.

Then Yugi kneels by his chair. 

Atem immediately jerks, scandalized by the improper display.

Yugi chuckles. “Hush,” the god says, touching Atem’s bare leg with a too-warm hand. “You are my husband. I hope you have not forgotten?” He removes a sandal. 

Sputtering, Atem says, “I have not.” He chokes when Yugi leans forward, lifting the fabric of his shendyt just high enough to expose his knee, and kisses him there. “Even so—” The rest of the words flee him, never to return again. 

“I am halfway done already,” Yugi points out, reaching for his other foot. 

“Is this punishment?” Atem can’t help but wonder. 

Tugging his second sandal off, Yugi raises a brow and asks, disbelieving, “You think this is _punishment_?” 

“Yes,” he says immediately, but after suffering a few minutes under Yugi’s stare, he reconsiders. “Maybe?” 

“Punishment,” Yugi repeats incredulously before focusing his attention back on his work with a shake of his head. “I only meant to try and put you at ease. It would seem my tactics have had the opposite effect.” Yugi finishes and stands, fixing Atem with a look. “Better?” 

Atem really couldn’t say it’s better or worse. He doesn’t know how at all how to handle Yugi in this – or, if he is to be honest, himself. 

“You know,” Yugi says, tugging him up from his seat, “ _I_ have no expectations.” 

Frowning, Atem asks, “What do you mean?” He, without thinking, goes to help Yugi strip off his headdress. 

“You could take me to bed,” Yugi says with no hint of nervousness, leaving Atem gaping and, also, internally fuming. “Or you could wait.” 

“Wait?” he echoes as if he’s never heard the word before. 

“Yes,” Yugi says, reaching up to tug at a lock of his hair with a frustrated huff. “You swing between two extremes when you look at me. I am a source of intense frustration – or awe.” He tucks the lock behind Atem’s ear. “Either way, you can hardly stomach looking at me for long.” Yugi stroked Atem’s cheeks with his fingers. “I want you to see me, especially in this.” 

For the first time, Atem feels as if he _does_ see Yugi – but it is not enough. He nods. “Very well,” he says, exhaling. With trembling fingers, he reaches up and cups Yugi’s cheek, meets his eyes and holds his gaze. “Let us…sleep then.” 

Yugi’s answering smile is golden and bright, and Atem feels much of the tension bleeding out of him. 

Unfortunately, it leaves him mostly with exhaustion. 

They finish undressing separately then come back together in bed. 

They lie face-to-face with only a small strip of bed between them. 

As they lie together with the distance between them, Atem feels shame start to creep into him. He’s succumbed to cowardice. He’s failed to do his duty to Kemet and to his father. Worse, he’s failed at the simple task of maintaining his dignity as a prince. 

Yugi, as if sensing his internal struggle, shifts closer to him and takes one his hands. With those too-bright eyes on him, he interlaces their fingers together. “Peace, Atem,” he says. “I am glad.” 

“Are you?” Atem whispers, confused.

“I am,” Yugi says. 

Atem waits for him to say why, but Yugi just keeps staring at him and smiling. “Will you tell me why?” he asks, a little exasperated. 

“ _This_ pleases me,” Yugi says, eyes dropping to their joined hands before returning to Atem’s face. 

Atem hesitates but eventually nods and squeezes Yugi’s hand. “Yes,” he agrees, a tired smile creeping its way onto his face. “This pleases me, too.”

* * *

When Atem wakes, sometime in the afternoon, he finds Yugi dressed, adorned, and ready to face the world, but there is no time to ask for how long he’s been waiting for Atem to wake – or to feel self-conscious about their choice the previous night to not to properly consummate their marriage. 

Soon, servants are flooding into the chamber to bathe and dress him, who are then followed shortly after by Aknadin and several priests from the temple of Heru-ur. 

They, in exhaustive detail, relay to Yugi and Atem the preparations they’ve been making since first light for their visit to the temple. 

By the end of it, Atem wants to crawl back into bed, but Yugi looks infuriating benevolent throughout the whole speech. Atem, as a sort of game, challenges himself to try and echo his spouse’s solicitous expression.

He’s not sure how well it works truthfully, but every now and then, Yugi turns his eyes to Atem and smiles, which automatically makes the attempt well worth it. 

Pharaoh comes after the priests, dressed in his best finery, and to Atem’s relief, all traces of displeasure have fled from his face. He smiles at the two of them today, and there’s that familiar pride in his eyes that sets Atem at ease. 

“I fear the offerings we planned may not be appropriate,” his father begins as they leave his chambers to go to the temple. Atem notices that Yugi’s guards have taken their place among them. 

“Because Heru-ur is my sire?” Yugi guesses. 

Aknamkanon silently considered the question before responding. “Yes.”

The priests exchange glances and murmur behind. 

“The usual offerings are appropriate,” Yugi says, eying Pharaoh with an expression Atem can’t puzzle out. “Your house has always been more than generous.” 

Aknamkanon’s shoulders drop a hair, probably in relief, and he says, in a light tone, “That is good to hear.” He reaches out to Atem walking beside him and squeezes his shoulder. 

When they leave the palace shortly after, with a combined host of Pharaoh’s and Yugi’s guards, they find the streets lined with the city’s people – and probably more than a few foreigners as curious and excited as the rest to see a god in the flesh. 

The guards, as they proceed at a leisurely pace, attempt to manage the chaos. There’s much shouting and wailing and crying, and many onlookers are climbing all over each other to get a good look at Yugi. Others are set on presenting offerings. 

Jou, walking directly beside their litter, selects a few seemingly at random and passes them to Yugi. Most, Atem notes, are of little value. A Mehen board with no pieces. A small clay bowl filled with figs. A braided bracelet strung with a handful of glass beads.

Atem turns and whispers into Yugi’s hair so that no onlookers might see or hear, “Why these?” 

“There is very little evil in the souls that offered these,” Yugi says, after a moment of thought. 

Atem forces himself not to frown, not while they’re so visible. “How can you tell?” 

“My sire is the son of truth,” Yugi answers, and to Atem, it sounds as if he’s reciting something. “These are the things he taught me to see.”


	3. Chapter 3

Atem spends most of their temple visit staring at Yugi. 

There’s something about the way he looks in the low light, with the incense smoke coming up in plumes all around him, something about the way the fabric of his kalasiri shifts as he lays down the offerings his guards have selected for him. 

Atem actually misses his cue to present his own offerings, and his father, for the first time since he was a little boy, must give him a little touch on the shoulder to inform him of his misstep. 

Atem’s face is so hot it stings as he goes to the altar with his ceremonial hunting knife and his lotus. He sets the offerings between his father’s – a leopard skin and the first cut of the most recent harvest – and Yugi’s and remains on the dais for a moment to pray. First, for forgiveness for being so distracted in this most holy shrine dedicated to, of all the gods, his husband’s sire. Second, he prays for Kemet’s prosperity. Third, for happiness – with Yugi. 

When he returns to Yugi’s side shortly after, his husband takes his hand, and together, they watch as the rest of the offerings – pitchers of beer, precious gems, baskets of pomegranates and dates, furs – are laid down for Yugi’s sire. 

The priests recite more prayers before finally presenting Atem and Yugi, together, to the great statue of Heru-ur in the main sanctuary, saying with hands outstretch towards the ceiling, “Heru-ur, god of light, bless this union of the flesh.” 

Yugi squeezes his hand when he flinches. 

Aknadin comes forth with a pitcher of oil, eyes more intense than Atem’s ever seen, and offers it to Yugi. 

Without hesitation, Yugi lets go of Atem’s hand and takes the pitcher. 

Atem bends, and his husband pours the oil over his head slowly. It drips down onto his collar and his tunic and the puzzle; he finds it doesn’t bother him at all. It had before, when he’d been anointed and named Prince Regent. 

But before, he hadn’t had Yugi across from him, smiling and bright-eyed. 

Atem, in turn, takes the pitcher and anoints Yugi. 

They are then ritually bathed in a sacred pool at the back of the main sanctuary, redressed, and brought to the highest balcony of the temple where his father is waiting for them. 

Aknamkanon stares at them for a moment, again with that inscrutable look on his face, then with a little shake of his head, the expression clears. 

“Come,” he says, holding his hands out to them. “Let the people see you, my sons.” 

A warmth spreads across Atem’s chest at the words. He puts his hand in his father’s; Yugi copies him. 

Aknamkanon, after a pause, smiles at them and leads them by the hand to the ledge of the balcony. The people below cheer loudly, on and on and on, and Aknamkanon chuckles, seemingly delighted by their joy. 

He puts Atem’s hand in Yugi’s and raises their joined hands for the people below.

The crowd erupts, so loudly it feels as if the temple might crumble under their feel from the sheer strength of their voices. 

He knows he and Yugi stand with their arms raised for a long time, a display for all the people of their kingdom to see, but it feels like a mere blink of the eye. 

And even when they step away, the cheering continues, just as loud as ever.

* * *

Atem reaches up to prod his temple while Jou, Anzu, and the third guard, Honda, check his and Yugi’s room again, and one of his personal guards, noticing his discomfort, frowns and asks, “Are you well, Prince Regent? Shall I call for—”

“No.” Atem waves away his concern. He knows he shouldn’t, but he and Yugi only have a short amount of time before they’re expected at the feast in the main hall. “It is only a headache.” 

“Jou can help with that,” Yugi says. 

“Jou?” Atem repeats, unable to keep the skepticism out of his voice. He knows little about the guard, but he never would have guessed the man to have any sort of experience with healing.

Yugi’s lip quirks up. “His sister is a well-sought healer at the court,” he explains, to Atem’s surprise. “She passed some of her knowledge onto Jou.” 

“You say it like I had a choice,” Jou mutters from the door, but his voice is laden with fondness. Pride. He waves Atem to him. “Come, prince. Let me see your head.” 

Atem hesitates. 

“It was the incense, yes?” Jou guesses. “Oh, how I hate the smell of Kyphi.” 

Atem, more out of surprise than willingness, steps forward. “You do?” 

Jou snorts and tips Atem’s head back without warning, setting his personal guards twitching at their posts. “I have been treated with it too many times to find any joy in smelling it,” he explains. “Ah, let me see. A little—” His tongue pokes out of his mouth.

Atem jerks in his hold; he feels as though he’s taken a hit from a reed switch. “You—!”

“Pardon,” Jou says unapologetically. “I always put too much—”

Scowling, Atem pulls out of his hold. 

“Well, did it work?”

Atem blinks, tips his head, and realizes the pain has fled him. “Yes,” he says with some amount of reluctance. “The pain has gone. Thank you.”

“Good,” Jou says, suddenly serious again. He turns to Yugi. “Marik is inside; he demands to speak to you.”

Yugi chokes. “ _Jou_. Why did you not say so before?”

“Ha,” Jou says, stepping to the side so that they may enter. “And let the poor prince go in there to deal with _that_ with his head still half-full of the smell of Kyphi?”

“Still,” Yugi mumbles, reaching for Atem’s hand and squeezing too tightly. “You should have said.” 

He draws Atem into the room even as Atem’s asks, with this brow furrowed, “Who is Marik?”

“That would be me, o’ prince,” someone says dryly, and there, in the center of the chamber, stands a proud-necked man in a lavender shendyt, draped and adorned with many strings of gold beads. His eyes are violet, like Yugi’s, but a shade lighter, and his hair is pale blond. His stares across at Atem with eyes as fierce as a lion’s. 

“Marik, why have you come?” Yugi says, and he moves a little in front of Atem as if to shield him. 

“Do no fret, little bird,” Marik sooths. “The court is as you left it – and your shadow, too. I am here to deal only with a minor annoyance.” He smiles to himself, seemingly pleased about this ‘annoyance’ of his. “And to deliver a message from my sister. She wishes to remind you that she will send a healer by week’s end, against any and all protests, and mark her, it will not be that one’s”—he tips his head in Jou’s direction—“sister.” 

For a moment, Yugi remains silent, lips pressed into a thin, unhappy line. “I understand.”

“Do you truly?” Marik asks with a smile, eyes sliding to Atem. 

Atem glares at Marik before turning to question Yugi, “Why is a healer coming?” 

“I think I shall take my leave now,” Marik says, backing a step and offering a bow. 

“Do you require assistance on your errand?” Yugi says with an air of formality, gesturing to his guards standing off to the side. 

“Me?” Marik says, bearing teeth. “No. I can handle the little horror on my own. Thank you.” And with that, he vanishes like a thread of smoke.

“Yugi,” Atem says lowly, annoyed at being ignored. “Why is a healer coming?” 

“I think _we_ shall take our leave now,” Jou says, and quickly, he, Anzu, and Honda depart the chamber. 

“ _Yugi_.” Atem plants himself in front of his husband. 

“The healer is coming to examine me,” Yugi says. Atem flinches back a step, an idea forming in his head, but Yugi shakes his head, laughs. “You cannot, as I imagine you and your father have guessed, get a child on me.” 

Atem flushes. He _had_ guessed, but he had also doubted. Strange and miraculous, after all, are the ways of the gods. “Then why—?”

Yugi hesitates. “I am…damaged.”

“What?”

“It is an old wound,” Yugi says slowly, choosing each of his words with obvious care. “None of the court have been able to heal it.” He hesitates again. “You and I, we are linked.” He gestures between his heart and Atem’s. “Do you remember? When you were a child, you were ill.” 

Frowning, Atem shakes his head slowly, brow furrowed. “I do not remember, but I know of what you speak. I caught sick suddenly when I was a boy, and nothing the healers or the priests tried worked to improved my condition. My father told me for many weeks they expected for me to die.”

“Yes,” Yugi says, regarding him with an eerie expression. 

Atem shudders. “Yugi,” he forces himself to take a step towards Yugi. “I do not understand.” 

“I am the reason you live,” Yugi says. “And _you_ are the reason _I_ live.” 

“I—” Atem makes a face, feeling foolish for having to admit his ignorance a second time: “I do not understand. How—”

“It was a ritual spell of considerable – _and terrible_ – power,” Yugi says, looking pained to even speak of it. “It damaged you as well as me, but you, it seems, have healed.” He blows out a breath. “I have not.” 

“I—”

“If you say you do not understand another time, I swear—” Yugi stops, seemingly unable to think of an appropriate threat, then huffs. He crosses his arms. “You are very clever.” His eyes drift to the puzzle hanging around Atem’s neck. “You solved that in a single night. Surely, you can—”

“They think—” Atem’s voice breaks, to his horror. “I with— Lie?”

“Oh, Father, preserve this son of your flesh,” Yugi mutters, turning his eyes towards the ceiling. “Yes, Atem. Very good. You understand.” He gives Atem an apologetic smile. “There are some in the court who believe you might, ah, _un-damage_ me as it were—” His eyes slide down Atem’s body meaningfully. “Or at the very least, they hope you might gift into me some method of healing.” 

Atem’s mouth opens, and a strange, strange sound echoes forth. He chokes and wonders, “Will that work?” 

Laughing, Yugi says, “I do not know. I find I am of the mind that it would not hurt to try.” The corners of his smile drop slightly. “But I have been this way for as long as I can remember, Atem. I can stand to be this way for longer yet.”

Atem frowns. “You never meant to tell me.” 

“No,” Yugi says bluntly.

Atem waits for him to explain _why_ , but Yugi remains stubbornly silent. He finds he wants to stamp his foot like a child. “Do you think I pity you?” he bites out. “Do you—”

Yugi raises a brow. “Do you not?” 

“I do not think I know how to pity you yet,” Atem snaps. The answer seems to surprise Yugi. “Does it cause you pain?” 

Yugi considers the question with a tilt of his head, sighs. “No,” he answers with a shake of his head. He stops, reaching press his palm flat to his chest, to his heart. “Yes?” His face scrunches in confusion. “I have never been asked to explain it before.” 

“No?” Atem says incredulously. 

“The gods see the soul as easily as the flesh, Atem,” Yugi says gently, letting his hand drop, “and mine is no exception. They see that it is damaged; they need not ask me about it.” He reaches up and brushes a lock of Atem’s hair away from his face. “Thank you. Your concern—it helps.” 

The smile that Yugi gives him is sweet and too-grateful, and Atem, without thinking, leans forward to press a kiss to Yugi’s lips. He lingers there for a moment before pulling back, and even then, he pulls back only far enough that he can see Yugi’s face in its entirety. “I hope that I can help you.” 

“Oh, Atem,” Yugi says, eyes sad. “I do not want—”

Atem can guess what he’s thinking, and he finds that it angers him some. “Have you not felt my eyes on you all this day?” He cups Yugi’s face in his hands and stares down into his eyes unblinkingly. “Did you not tell me that you _See_?”

“I—” Yugi stops, stares up at Atem as if seeing him anew. Then, eyes clearing, he says, “Yes. _I see_.” 

“Good,” Atem says and kisses him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the wonderful comments! I confess, they are a huge part of the reason I've been writing so much for this fandom lately. Everyone's just been so so so great! 
> 
> Also, just a heads up. If you desperately want me to answer a question, it's best to send a message to my writing account on Tumblr. Username is ecarius, same as on here. :)


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